Chapter 11

Makoto could only ponder his words. Who was "they," and what kind of world was this? He looked at the hunched person. They wouldn't answer his questions, but he could at least give directions.

"Nearest city?"

"Over yonder. No need to think about it."

Makoto did not know why he was like this, but he started walking over the hill. Sure enough, an ancient palace came into view.

This structure held round roofs and scattered plots of palm trees, reminiscient of the Taj Mahal.

This was surrounded by corresponding buildings and had the makings of a city. Guards with scimitars patrolled the area.

Walking to the gates, he saw many peddlers and carriages rolling about. It was like out of a fantasy novel.

Before he could arrive, he was stopped by a familiar force.

"don't go. You want to stock up before going to a new area. Go gather that golden stuff."

Nagatha demanded things from him, but Makoto felt this was a poor estimation of his abilities.

'does he want me to just pick it up? It's not like I have a magic bottle or anything. Plus, shouldn't we blaze new trails?'

He instead decided to veer 45 degrees to the right, altering his location and causing Nagatha to facepalm.

He arrived at a secluded, poor part of town. The view was darker and streets were quieter even though more people populated them.

He walked over to a local boy and asked, 0what kind of place is this?"

"A newcomer? Or are you here to inspect? We don't have anything, please don't ask for taxes!"

"No, I am new here and am wondering where I should go."

The boy heard this and thought. After a few seconds, he pointed to a building down the street.

"Granny Meng's house is over there. She will tell you what you need to know."

After Makoto looked in that direction, the boy was gone. Still confused, he finally arrived at where he could get answers.

*knock knock knock*

He waited but no answer. After shifting around his gaze, the "visitors please come in" sign was espied.

With a creak, the door opened. A rickety old table in the middle and tattered rugs littered the muddy wood. An old women started muttering

"Forget your sins to kill is to vie to survive and suffice the world is an end..."

Incoherent messages overlapped and made no context.

He slowly eased forward for her to shove a bowl towards him.

"Your path must take sip the cup of rememberance in death is there light to suppresss DRINK THE BOWL."

His face rocketed downward like to the chicken in its peck.

Heart beating like drums, there was only death and in death was life born.

To spring from dust is THE ETERNAL FATE.

*Boom*

The dust settled.